


Grey Lights

by MnIuDsNbIuGfHgTr_CxOiLkOiUyReSa



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ballet Dancer Sherlock Holmes, Child Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drunkenness, Eating Disorders, Hate Speech, John Watson Plays Rugby, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Panic Attacks, Protective John Watson, Scared Sherlock, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-03-06 10:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18848950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnIuDsNbIuGfHgTr_CxOiLkOiUyReSa/pseuds/MnIuDsNbIuGfHgTr_CxOiLkOiUyReSa
Summary: Broken, twitching, and ready to give up teenage Sherlock is falling hard, and not in the good way. His mother is dead, his father an abusive drunk, his brother isn't around and the bullying never lets up. And out of the blue a rough and tumble blond with a crooked grin a slight limp and a taste for hideous jumpers shows up as his new room mate.





	1. Maps, Meetings, and Messes.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting a fanfic, and I am willing to say my grammar is most likely pretty bad. I have mild dyslexia and it is often hard for me to write. That being said please do not hold back on friendly advice, comments, or tips. I hope you enjoy!

John sighed puffing out his cheeks staring once again at the map in his hand. Dorm B for some unknown reason was not next to dorm A and he now had no clue how to find his room. He squinted at the paper and looked at the buildings surrounding him. He didn’t see a resemblance to the paper. Where was he?

Great! His first day at a new school and he was already hopelessly lost!

He glared again at the paper in his hands paying particular attention to the name scrawled atop his paper He was far too irritated to scoff at the ridiculous name of his future roommate. William Sherlock Scott Vernet Holmes. 

If he could ever find his bloody dorm!

The short youth pushed an angry hand through his dark blond hair. There were several students walking around but all seeming to preoccupied and far too busy to take notice of the flustered blond. And John Hamish Watson was not one to inconvenience anyone. 

With a short huff of breath, he straightened his posture and set resonantly off along the sidewalk pulling the blue plastic bin full of his things behind him. He should have taken up the lady’s offer of getting someone to show him around… What had her name been? Mrs Hudson! She had been nice but John, of course, had insisted he could find his own way. Stupid. He was so busy fuming to himself he didn’t notice the young woman in front of him until he had practically trampled her into the pavement and sent the both of them flying to the ground in a heap. 

“Sorry, so sorry! Are you alright?” He scrambled to his feet offering a hand to a rather plain looking girl who seemed at a lost for words. In a sudden burst of energy, she shot up ignoring his hand and started breathlessly gushing her own apologies. “Oh I’m sorry are you okay?” She straightened her green blouse and met his eyes. “Oh, right, yes, er- I’m fine… are you?” “Yes,” she answered quickly. 

“John Watson,” he tucked his papers under one arm and held out a hand. The girl tucked a strand of mousy brown hair behind her ear before shaking his hand briefly yet firmly. “Molly Hooper” “Right” John groaned inwardly he was rubbish at this. Asking people for things was not his area. Suck it up. 

“I was wondering If you knew where I could find the boy’s dorm B? Or maybe a bloke called William Sherlock Scott Vernet Holmes.” He read carefully from his paper unsure of which of the five names the boy would be known as. 

Honestly how many names did one guy need?

“Sherlock?” She squeaked “do you know him?” The look on her face practically screamed that she had a crush on his future dorm mate. Guess that was normal enough and slightly reassuring. Molly seemed like a nice girl and if she liked the bloke he couldn’t be all that bad. 

“Not yet” he confessed the curiosity got the better of him “What’s he like?” The glow of excitement dimmed slightly. She seemed almost apprehensive to describe the student. “Oh… he is brilliant!” She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “ He doesn’t initiate conversations often. You could try the library he will probably be there or in the dorm. He’s a bit hard to talk to you know, sort of just zones out.” Her eye brightened. “But he is a genius! He can figure out anything.” John nodded his head thoughtfully as Molly continued to give him directions. 

“It’s just past the canteen on the right.” “Cheers” “Nice meeting you!” John nodded his head shortly and gave her a polite smile as he walked in the direction she had indicated. 

He stopped in front of the brick building that looked identical to every other dorm he had passed. The large iron B above the door imposed upon his mind.

He steeled himself annoyed at his cartwheeling stomach. Honestly, you would have thought he was about to meet the queen the way his nerves were playing up. You are being stupid. Just because the bloke has the most ridiculously posh name I have ever heard doesn’t mean he won’t be perfectly normal. Of course, he would be normal why shouldn’t he be? John chuckled to himself picturing a perfectly average bloke casually studying or texting up in their room without the slightest idea that his future dorm mate was stressing on the cement below. Of course, Molly’s words echoed in his mind hard to talk to… that would be fine if the boy decided to keep to himself John wasn’t going to press an issue. 

John pulled his plastic bin silently through the relatively quiet third-floor hallway. The soft sounds or conversation, music and laughter seeped out from under a few doors. Most were silent he was after all here early classes didn’t start for another week and a half. 

221 he mouthed to himself eyes scanning over each of the neatly painted numbers on the doors. 

217, 219, 221! He stopped in front of the door straining his ears for a sign that his dorm mate was present. The room was silent. He raised a fist to knock. Should he knock? It was after all his room as much as the other boy’s. He would knock, just this once to be polite. That settled he gave a sharp military knock learned from his father. No sound came from inside. Perhaps the other boy was out on the grounds or was in the library? Mrs Hudson had told him the boy had already gotten back from the summer holidays so John knew he wasn’t the first to arrive. With a shrug, he unlocked the door with his key and pushed open the door. His jaw dropped to the floor. Had the dorm been robbed?

There was a bed on either side of the door with a chest for clothes beside each one a desk stood at the end of the room every surface piled dangerously high with papers, charts bits of technology, books and a somewhat haphazardly placed microscope. Every inch of the walls was covered in pictures papers and handwritten notes. Glass boxed filled with bugs pinned inside and even a bat leaned against the left wall. The items were pinned, glued, taped and driven to the wall with knives in a couple of cases. Stacks of boxes filled with only god knew what covered a great deal of floor space. A small television set and sofa sat in the alcove to the right and a rather tiny kitchen consisting of a fridge sink and microwave had the appearance of a mad scientist’s lab. A door in by the tv lead to what he assumed to be the toilet. A rather morbid yellowed human skull starred accusingly at him from a sagging overladen bookshelf. It looked like the room had been ransacked. 

It wasn’t until he moved to pull a box form his bin onto the one bare bed that he noticed a slim young man sitting motionless on the bed to the left. He was beautiful. The boy didn’t move a muscle his eyes were closed under black brows and lashes. An unruly pile of glossy black curls shone startlingly dark against the otherwise colourless boy. Palms pressed together, dark jeans scrunched up to his black long sleeves T-shirt, fingertips just brushing his motionless cupid’s bow lips. His nose was rather thin and long and his cheekbone higher and sharper than should be natural it a sort of alien-like effect. With those cheekbones and hair, he looked like he had just jumped off the front of one of the shop magazines. No wonder Molly liked him, But then he looked closer his interest in medicine shows, the boy wasn’t simply slim he was skinny, extremely skinny, unhealthily so. The alabaster skin was paler than should be possible the eyelids were quite still and he began to grow quite concerned. Was this stranger even breathing? 

”Er- Hello?”

As if in response to his thought a low gasp for breath slipped passed the curly haired boy’s lips His eyes shot open. They were silver? no, blue? Green? Whichever colour they were they were pricing as if he had seen through John. The eyes unfocused in disinterest. Pulling his hands apart he vaulted himself off the bed so violently John was sure he would pitch into the opposite wall. Instead, the boy grabbed John’s hand from his side wrapping skeletal fingers around his own warm calloused hand in a firm grip and in the flattest most emotionless voice John had ever heard pronounced. “Sherlock Holmes, a pleasure to meet you, John.” And turned to seize a book from the top of one of the boxes. 

Brilliant his dorm mate was either mental or - wait had he said, John? How did he know his name? 

“Er— yes, John Watson” he gasped watching in amazement as the boy hung himself upside down on the bed frame like a bat and proceeded to read the book in hand. There was no response. He glanced at once of the photos on the wall and blanched. A woman with a bashed in head stared back at him. “Um, Sherlock?” No response. “Sherlock?” He asked more firmly. The boy rolled off the bed landing on his feet neatly and walking to stand by John. He had no regard for personal space, standing only a few centimetres from him. He was quite tall at least a head above John’s shorter frame and smelled faintly of fabric softener, cigarette smoke something slightly chemical and something acrid a bit like sick?

 

“What’s this?” He gestured at the photograph grimacing at the morbidness. “A dead body.” was the reply. John looked sharply up at the boy. He wasn’t joking he realised. This strange young man was deadpan serious. “I can see that, why is she on the wall?” With a noncommittal shrug, the pale skinned boy turned back to the nest of paper and sheets that was a bed. “Oi!” John had enough. “I’m not sure I want a dead woman on the wall” "It's just a picture!" He whinged, "yeah well I don't want it above my bed so take down the bloody thing!" “Your bed?” The boy practically whirled around. His eyes sharpened scanned over him in an instant “Oh quite, you are my dorm mate.” It wasn’t a question. “I wasn’t expecting you for another 4.32 days.” “I came early,” 4.32 what the h—? “I see” His voice was soft, quite deep, and posh. 

In a sudden burst of energy, the boy leapt to attention quickly hooking his thumbs through the holes his had cut into the sleeves in a frantic manner. Had John seen? He put a hand on his head as if trying to flatten the unruly mass of curls. The youth thrust out his hand a roll of bills closed between two extended fingers. “Would you get me a cup of tea from the machine downstairs.” The voice was now commanding, clipped, yet still unmistakably posh. John stared at him in shock. “Excuse me?” “Oh get yourself something while you're at it.” The pale boy remarked eyes drilling into his face. Without realising what it was he was doing John found himself walking down the hallway bills clutched in hand.


	2. A Laugh In Time Saves Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't plan to update every day but I got rather excited last night and there was a huge storm so I couldn't sleep. I ended up writing this next part. A shorter chapter this time but it just seemed like the right place to end it. Friendly comments, advice, and questions are more than welcome!

Both hands grasping hot cups of tea John kicked at the door. “Sherlock open up”   
The machine downstairs had been out of order and he a feeling the young man had known that. Unwilling to return empty handed he had walked over to another building in order to retrieve the drinks. 

A loud thud sounded from inside the dorm followed by a sharp grunt of pain and a frantic rustling of papers. “Sherlock? You alright?” The door wrenched open with such sudden violence that John felt forced to take a step back. 

The skinny youth was panting heavily, dark fluffy hair falling into his eyes and he made no move to brush it away. A thin gold chain that John hadn’t noticed before hung over his shirt’s collar a small plain band hanging from it. 

Sherlock slowed his breathing straightened his shirt, tucking the chain within the t-shirt and stepped to allow the smaller teenager entrance. John nearly dropped the tea. The entire right half of the room was immaculate, all the papers on the walls moved the boxes pushed to the left even the curtain on the right side of the window was hanging neatly (the left curtain was suspended by fishing line from the ceiling acting as a hammock for several strange looking potted plants.) Sherlock had fled from the door and was busy pulling pictures and papers from the heap on his bed and tapping the transfers onto a new location on his wall.

Right…? 

John sat the two cups down and laid the excess money on the desk. He glanced sideways at his dorm mate. The thin teen was now stretched to his full height standing preciously on one of the filing boxes and clambering up on top of the bookshelf. John could clearly see the bone structure of the thin body through his t-shirt. The boy had to be ill. John gazed around the room uncertainty before picking up one of the boxes marked 1871-1875 he placed it against the wall next to one marked 1876-1880 in spidery almost feminine handwriting. 

“Er- Sherlock?” The boy didn’t respond. “Sherlock!” Was this going to become a thing? He turned slightly wobbly from his perch on the bookshelf to peer silently at the fit blond. “What is all this?” John held up another box 1921-1925 black permanent marker on the front. “Research” “On what?” John asked dazed. What could possibly be so fascinating?

“Murder” 

The blond nearly dropped the box. “Murder-?” He felt his own blond brows scrunch up in a mixture of horror and fascination. “Mostly, also cartels, gangs, bombings…ra— “ a look of discomfort settled on the features momentarily. John dismissed the falter. “Oh! and some chemistry, music and mathematics as well.” The tall youth leapt to the floor landing in a pose that maybe John think of spider-man straightened and held out his arms for the box “But all of those are clearly marked” 

John shook his head and turned to his case on the bed. “Afghanistan or Iraq?” “What?” He turned quickly. “I do hate to repeat myself.” The would-be model sighed, face settling into a perfect pout. “Your father before he died, Afghanistan or Iraq?” John blinked. “I-Iraq- I’m sorry who told—?” “No one told me.” The dark haired boy snapped “The how did you— actually no never mind you wouldn’t answer anyway.” A thick silence fell and the two roommates simply stared at each other. John turned back to unpacking his case. 

“Dog tags.” Unconsciously John raised his fingers to the chains beneath his jumper. “They could be my grandfather's…” “No, you’re not from a close-knit family, the stiffness when I got close to you makes that obvious, besides you hold yourself straight, make eye contact and walk with military gait something you are far more likely to pick up from someone who raised you. You’re sentimental about your father’s death now but when he was around you avoided him probably because he was alcoholic your older sibling has the same problem, the drinking probably a brother judging by your mobile. You play rugby because you’re good at it and want to fit in even though you don’t particularly enjoy the game. You would much rather focus your time on biology seeing as you want to be a doctor, military doctor if I’m not mistaken, which I rarely am. You are here on a scholarship which means you must be at least relatively clever. ” 

How the heck—? 

The curly haired teen sucked in a breath cursing mentally. Stupid stupid stupid. There went any chance of a semi-decent school year. John was bound to hate him now. What had Set said? Don’t freak out your roommate and it’ll be okay. The blond rugby player was well equipped to beat him if he wanted and now had a reason to. Sherlock pulled his plush bottom lip in-between his teeth nervously waiting for John Watson to push him away and tell him to— 

“That was amazing…” John breathed staring at the youth in front of him. Sherlock’s eyebrows twitched, lips parting slightly in apparent surprise. He had been sure as soon as he started talking he would ruin any chance of John Watson liking him. “Really?” “Yes it was quite extraordinary” He hadn’t heard wrong. How fascinating perhaps—? “That’s not what people normally say…” “What do they normally say?” Curiosity? Good.

“Piss off” 

The look on the blond’s face was hard to read and Sherlock honestly wasn’t sure what to expect. Tugging lightly at the back of his curls he turned back to organising this books when a small giggle escaped the strong rugby player. Whirling back to face the blond he was met with dark eyes shining and a full-on laugh. 

And suddenly he was laughing with John. The pair of teenagers gasped for breath laughing outrageously. John collapsing onto his bed with Sherlock clinging to the side of the bookshelf. 

John was laughing and so was his strange roommate. He smiled hearing the deep chuckling laughter getting the feeling not many things made Sherlock Holmes laugh. 

A brown-haired boy in the hallway nearly dropped his mobile in shock. That Freak was laughing! And someone was laughing in there with him. Backing away from the closed door before dashing in the opposite direction his eyes lit up he had to tell Aaron… Moran wouldn’t believe it.


	3. It's Just A Sandwich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! As always friendly comments, suggestions, or questions are welcome.

It was loud, very loud and Sherlock was having trouble keeping his scream of “shut up” inside and away from the ears of the entire canteen. Why was he even in this hell hole?

Oh right, because John Watson had asked him to come sit with him and For reasons unknown to himself he had found himself agreeing to follow the boy. Stupid. 

The tall teenager sulked behind John in the line not even having bothered to get a tray. The blond was happily filling his with his favourite flavourless substances known as food. The boy glanced at Sherlock and his expression changed. 

What? 

“Aren’t you going to eat something?” “I ate last night” It wasn’t a complete lie, he had in fact eaten a chip he’s snagged from Lestrade’s plate. Just ignorer to annoy the older boy. John just stared. “Last night— Sherlock that was 24 hours ago” “Problem?” John gave his head a shake and reached for a second wrapped sandwich from the counter. “You are supposed to eat every day!” He thrust the cling-wrapped substance into Sherlock’s hands turning to find a seat. 

Finished sulking and attempting to ignore the sandwich he found himself holding Sherlock kept up a rambling commentary the entire to the tables. John only barely caught snatches of the deductions “Her boyfriend is cheating on her with her sister. “That bloke forgot his toothbrush” “that football player over there forgot to call his mother…” John grinned at the words and settled the two of them at an empty table near the far wall. 

Sherlock stared stubbornly at the turkey and cheese sandwich on the plastic in front of him. It seemed to cower under the pricing glare. He had already stalled with getting up and standing in line to get both I’m and John drink, and then again for napkins. “Eat!” John smacked his hand slightly with a plastic spoon that left the slightest trace of apple sauce on the back of Sherlock’s hand. 

His stomach wasn’t hungry he didn’t need to eat. With a dramatic sigh Sherlock pick the top slice of bread of the sandwich and held it up under the light to examine it. “Sherlock!” A feminine voice exclaimed happily. “Ah, Molly!” He put on a fake smile. “Here have some bread!” He stuck his arm out abruptly. “Oh um I’m not really—” He stretched his lips far enough to create the dimples that always worked perfectly on her. “Thank you” she took the slice quickly. “I see you’ve met John then.” She blushed turning her eyes to the teenager. John was glaring at Sherlock. Sherlock, in turn, gave him a quick grin. “Yes, indeed.” “I ran into him earlier” she started fidgeting with her hair. “I am well aware” John mouth full of sandwich and crisps watched the exchange silently. Molly gave a weird sort of flustered sigh before turning to a table full of girls. “Bye Sherlock.” “Hmm” was his only response. 

Sherlock pulled out his mobile from his jean’s pocket and started fiddling with the device appearing to not be paying the slightest bit of attention to the world around him. A frustrated and quite confused John just stared at the boy.

He was younger than John maybe 15 or 16 but was still in the same classes. Had already proved himself to be extremely clever. He seemed rather eccentric as if the mess of books and science equipment wasn’t enough proof the social awkwardness sealed the deal. He was rather odd. Robotic even, not used to people. Vulnerable. There was no doubt that he came from money. His name brand clothes weren’t flashy but defiantly nice, not to mention the unmistakably posh accent. He wasn’t here on scholarship then. John found himself glaring at the skinny boy. In a swift movement, John snatched a slice of bread off his own sandwich and nearly threw it at the boy. “Eat it this time and don’t give it away.” The teen looked shocked and looking back up at the blond across from him he palled. Flinching slightly.

Sherlock knew there was no escaping this second piece of bread and his stomach churned at even the thought of eating it. One glance at John, however, made it very clear. If he wanted to stay on civil terms with John Watson he would have to eat the sandwich. Spindly fingers reassembled the sandwich glaring up at the blond for approval John raised an eyebrow expectantly. Sherlock steeled his muscles knowing what the simple act of eating now would cause latter but he did it anyway. Casually he picked up the sandwich and bit into it trying not to gag at the texture of meat and cheese on his tongue. A satisfied flash crossed the blond's eyes as he swallowed. Sherlock felt his body shudder but the smile on John’s face was enough to make him take the next bite and the next.

He was nearly done and his stomach was screaming discomfort, churning and clenching, telling him that this was bad and that he shouldn’t be eating. He wasn’t used to eating every day. It wasn’t something that usually happened particularly at home. Sherlock doubted if he could take another bite. But he did. He hadn’t even finished chewing the bite before an instantly irritating voice made him stiffen. 

“My my the skeleton eating! And without your boyfriend shoving it down your throat, wouldn’t mummy be so proud.” Sherlock dropped the sandwich like lava, squaring his shoulders and staring into a fixed point. 

“Leave me alone Anderson” “Aww that’s not very nice, Sebastian would be disappointed, poofer” Sherlock continued to stare at nothing.

“Hey, Freak!” The greasy haired man grabbed his shoulder roughly. Before he could stop himself Sherlock heard a sharp cry of pain escape his lips causing Anderson to jerk back in surprise and John to furrow his brow. Sherlock quickly slammed his mouth shut. 

John stared at his friend, silver eyes watering in pain. It definitely should not have hurt that bad unless he was already—? Anderson recovered quickly. “Freak look at me when I’m talking.” Sherlock had slumped down pointer finger rubbing a circle obsessively over and over not the table. 

“Who’s your boyfriend? Thought Moran had staked his claim” “I’m not his boyfriend.” John could feel the heat rising from his face. “And my name is John Watson” 

“Touchy eh? I don’t blame you though not many would risk it for the freak.” Risk it? Risk what? John stood in his spot glaring at the greasy haired smirker. “He isn’t a freak. Stop calling him a freak.” A dark-skinned girl with a headful of black curls hugging Anderson’s arm and smiled rather nastily at John. “Yeah he is, you’ll wanna take my advice and stay away from him unless you want everyone to think you’re a freak too.” “I’d rather be considered a freak than like you two.” John was practically shaking with rage. “Whatever, Watson see you around.” the girl sneered tugging on her boyfriend's arm. Who did these people think they were? Sherlock was still staring at his bread silently. As they were leaving the boy leaned down and whispered softly to Sherlock’s bowed head. “Murder” Sherlock closed his eyes tightly hoping that John hadn’t heard


	4. Fear is an Excellent Silencer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Chapter! Not a big one this time, a bit caught up with exams at the moment. Just a note the school I've put John and Sherlock in isn't a real school. It was however inspired by a private school I spent a very small amount of time in. As usual friendly, comments, questions, or suggestions are welcome!

“Sherlock?” John stared at his dorm mate a bit worried. What had that Anderson creep said to him? The pale boy wasn’t moving. His muscles were tense looking ready to snap at the slightest provocation. His head was bowed and his eyes closed ebony curls moving slightly with each heavy huff of breath. What was left of the dratted sandwich was squashed in his clenched fist. “Sherlock!” he prompted laying a worried hand on the boy’s shoulder. Eyes flying open Sherlock physically recoiled nearly falling backwards out of his seat. John just blinked in confusion.

“C-can we go…?” The posh baritone whispered. John felt frustrated it wasn’t as if he was going to hurt the boy but the way in which the boy reacted to a simple unexpected touch suggested that was exactly what Sherlock had been expecting.

“John?” Despite the crushed sandwich and flushed face, the raven-haired boy didn’t appear angry instead he seemed timid his words soft and almost fearful. Was Sherlock afraid of him? Quickly eyes not once leaving the pale figure John grabbed their trash and piled it neatly onto his tray. 

“Yeah, mate come on let's go.” Sherlock stood gratefully and then froze. Mate? Had John just called him his mate… No, he must have misheard. It was far too soon for John to consider him a friend and Sherlock didn’t make friends. All the same, he trailed meekly behind John feeling the food churning in his stomach and having to hold down the urge to he vomit at every step. They hardly made it into their room before Sherlock broke away from John slamming the door to the toilet and leaning over the porcelain bowl. 

John was perplexed, to say the least. Frustrated to say more. The entire walk back to the dorms he had been waiting for something, for some explanation. The silence was tense and felt unnatural compared to the cheerful rambling the boy had kept up before. Even more unexpected though was the moment they were in their dorm Sherlock to ran to the bathroom, slammed the door and began retching horribly. 

Sitting on his bed John tried to ignore the heaving and gasping emanating from the bath’s door. John dug his knuckles into his eyes and rubbed yawning. No wonder the bloke looked so unhealthy he couldn’t even hold down a sandwich. He wonders vaguely if the boy had some sort of physical condition or phobia. 

Leaning back the blond banged his head against the undecorated wall. What had that creep said to him? Whatever it was it had clearly upset the boy. Distress had instantly flashed over Sherlock face the instant the Anderson had leaned down.

John sighed again toed off his trainers and laid down belly first on his military tight blankets. Picking up his copy of grey anatomy he propped his head up on a fist and slowly started waving his calves in the air as he read. 

The horrible sounds behind the door stopped. John glanced up but seeing not movement returned his eyes to his book. Twenty minutes later the tap turned on ran a few moments and turned back off. There was a great deal or rustling and what sounded like the drawer opening and closing before a very flushed, very sad looking Sherlock appeared. 

He was visibly trembling, his skin pale, the skin around his eyes pink, his eye tear brights, and his lips puffy red. The normally fluffy black curls were plastered to his head with sweat and a great deal of tap water. Water dripped from the dark curls and onto his T-shirt. Sherlock seemed to shrink under John’s gaze and did everything he could to avoid eye contact. Graciously John turned his eyes away from the younger boy and back to his book. 

Sherlock sighed in relief and walked over to his bed. Rustling around he neatly placed the four files and six books that had managed to find a home on his mattress onto the desk. Reaching under his bed the dark haired boy tugged out a plastic shower bag and clean pants from a drawer. Bundling up the bright orange blanket from his bed the younger teen redispersed into the bath with a murmured whisper of “Shower”

John gave himself a full body stretch while still laying down curling his toes and yawning widely before flipping his book shut and peeling off his jumper and dropping to the floor to do some press-ups. He managed 17 reps before a knock at the door forced him to get up. 

“Hello?” John stared at the much shorter, much fatter, and red-haired boy in front of him. The freckled face seemed to be having trouble focusing on John’s face and was gaping as if scandalised at his bare chest. “Can I help you?” John smiled politely. “No” the redhead huffed and practically ran down the hall. Rolling his eyes John shut the door and dropped back to the floor. 

Sherlock returned his curls wrapped in a towel and his neon orange blanket swaddled around his body. He wasn’t looking at John, he couldn’t bring himself to look at him. Not after what he was sure the other blond had just heard. What must he think of him now? A boy so weak he couldn’t eat a few bites or handle a few rude comments… and what if John had heard? Well if John had heard then you might as well wrap up their civility in a bow and throw it into the fire. 

So he carried on as if John wasn’t there. Settling on the edge of the mattress freeing an arm to brush his curls and then returning it back to his swaddle. It was time to sleep he hadn’t slept in at least four days and he was tired. He was extra careful about the blanket covering him didn’t want John to see the scars, the bruises, the cuts, and the puncture marks. He didn't want John to see him. 

John watched slightly amused and slightly worried as the teenager flopped onto the mattress landing in what looked to be a rather uncomfortable position facing the wall. “All right mate?” The bundle of orange didn’t answer. John sighed to himself. Fine, if that’s how it was going to be. John tore off his jeans and jammed himself into a pair of ratty sleep trousers and slapped off the light frustrated. “Good night Sherlock.” a slight sniff and the smallest murmur was the only answer.


	5. Backfire Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait been a bit caught up with exams. I don't know if i will be able to post much the next two weeks cause I am visiting a new school in hopes of being excepted. As always friendly comments, questions or points are welcome. 
> 
> NOTE: This chapter has some flash backs to male on male rape, and a rather dub-con sexual encounter between two underage boys in an established relationship.

Sherlock woke knowing he had slept for aproximent half of an hour. It was only fifteen after nine. He stretched arching his back off the mattress calmed by the gentle snoring that assured him John was asleep. His blood was pounding the previous despondent mood was gone. 

Why had he acted like such an Idiot, he’d broken down in front of the blond boy. John wouldn’t forget that ridiculous shaking mess he had been reduced to anytime soon. 

Sherlock snorted derisively at himself tugging on his jeans and opting for a thicker baggy hooded sweater over the much thinner T-shirt on the floor. Jamming his heels into his purple converse he grit his teeth. Sherlock reached under his mattress fingers wrapping around a box of cigarets he wasn’t technically supposed to have… but he needed them just like how he needed to see Sebastian. 

Slipping out three from the box he slipped them into his pocket and shoved the box back under the bed. Dropping his mobile into his pocket and throwing a pair of earbuds around his neck Sherlock eased open the door and left. He didn’t want to wake John and he had the feeling his dorm mate would not approve of smoking. 

Why should he care what John thought anyway? He was bored, wanted a smoke, and wanted to go see his boyfriend end of story. 

That settled in his mind Sherlock burst open the front door with more flourish than strictly necessary and strode off into the night. 

Knocking on the door to Sebastian's dorm room he waited restlessly fingers tapping against his arm manicly his last cigaret dangling from plush lips. To tell the truth he was still puzzling over the mystery that was John… The boy seemed to genuinely want to be friends with him… Why?

The door was flung open by a tubby redhead who groaned almost comically rolling his eyes to the heavens and grabbing a jacket from the hook near his door. “Moran your Boyfriend’s here’’ Pushing past Sherlock the red-head started grumbling under his breath. Ignoring the larger boy Sherlock pushed into the room. 

Sebastian lay sprawled across his bed, in his boxers, arm covering his face snoring slightly. Sherlock stubbed out his fag and toed off his shoes and slipped out of both his jeans and pants. The recent lash marks on his chest were pretty bad, he didn’t want to worry the larger blond. Straddling the muscular boy Sherlock smirked. Curly blond hair ruffled messily on the bronze tan skinned forehead, sliding the arm from the taller teen’s face Sherlock grinned again at the slack face beneath him.

He inhaled the rich scent of the larger boy’s cologne and tugged off his boyfriend’s boxers reaching to lightly trace thick arched blond brows, his strong sharp cut jaw, straight germanic nose, and slightly cracked parted lips surrounded by light stubble. Leaning down the younger teen met and began to explore those lips and jerked back started.

He hadn’t noticed the heavy scent of beer before and now the bitter taste was on his tongue. He lay completely down on his boyfriend like a blanket resting his head on the broad chest tears starting to form in his eyes. Today had been to much and now this slight detail was enough to set him off. 

No, the smaller boy mouthed. Not again? He had been drinking again? 

“Mmhgh, Sherly? Two strong arms wrapped around the younger boy. And a tear spilt he was a fool to think the blond would have given up the bottle. You promised! He wanted to yell, he wanted to leave now, You promised… He said he’d stop drinking. But he couldn’t make himself move.

The giant had bleary opened his eyes and hugging the raven-haired boy to his chest. Running a large sleepy hand up and down his clothed back and bare arse. Why did he have to be drunk? Sherlock could feel his skin tightening, heart beating wildly in a oncoming panic. Nothing good ever happened when people drank, His father would hit him, the man had raped him, Sebastian wouldn’t be gentle. Drinking never helped anything.

He shouldn’t be afraid, should he?

It was his boyfriend after all. His very handsome, very protective, and at the moment if he wasn’t mistaken very drunk boyfriend.

He was the one who had started this, he was the one who had crawled into the blond’s bed and been itching for Sebastian to make love to him. But that was before he knew he was drunk, he was aware of what happened when people were drunk. 

He struggled to remain outwardly calm and pressed another kiss onto the hand asleep blond’s mouth. It had been months since Sebastian had been drunk and last time he had just giggled a bunch, tried to copy Sherlock’s ballet routine, sucked the younger boy off and ended up passed out after singing ‘God Save the Queen’. The time before on the other hand. The blond had yelled angry about Sherlock’s father and kissed him fiercely and entered with not enough preparation.

It was a toss up, sometimes violent, sometimes not. 

“Sherlock?” The dark curly haired teen felt his stomach clench and the bile rose in his throat he swallowed it down. Their voices are so similar. “Yeah, it’s me Seb.” He had to get out of here, his last encounter with the man still too fresh in his mind, he didn’t think he could handle it if Seb was rough. 

Sebastian rolled them over so that he was now laying on top of the smaller boy. Mouth connected messily and all Sherlock could taste was the beer. He squirmed slightly in discomfort. And looked up at Sebastian’s face. Damn the man, damn Alexander for looking so much like his younger brother. 

The same dark eyes, and sharply handsome face, hair blond instead of brown and much younger but still so similar. “Seb” “Ah, hush Sherly I need you now” He couldn’t do it anymore not with the smell of beer and it having been such a short time ago.

“ I don’t think—Not tonight Sebastian.” He pleaded heart rate erratic attempting to slip from the grip. The boy’s breath stunk of beer, drinking always drinking he’d sworn he would quit. It had been a deal, Sherlock would stop the cocaine if Sebastian stopped the drunkenness. It had worked too, at least Sherlock had thought so, over the summer holiday he had gone through his withdraws alone, screaming into the pillow in an effort to hide the cries from his father’s lash. “But-” the drunken teenager struggled to think “but you came here? Sherly I love youuuu!” The giant pouted grinding his hips down. Sherlock gasped at the sensation his hips bucking slightly

“Seb you’re drunk” “Nooooooo, “ the blond howled “I’m not I just need to be inside you” Sherlock squirmed. 

The man bit into his clavicle and ran his hands inside the boy’s shirt. 

“Seb!” “Aaron told me you were getting cosy with your new roommate, that’s not true, is it? I love you Sherly and you belong to me not that Watson kid” the blond slammed his lips against Sherlock’s. “Is it?” The blond stilled staring drunkenly at Sherlock. “No Sebastian it’s not true, I am yours.” He placated his furious boyfriend with a tender kiss, but the next kiss was teeth and bitting. 

“You mine,” the blond giggled and grinding his hips into the other boy again. “I want to be inside of you Sherly” “I don’t think that’s a goo- Seb you’re drunk.” The blond growled “you are sleeping with your roommate aren’t you! You’re- you’re cheating on me!” “No, no Sebastian I’m not!” The muscular blond pressed the thin form into the mattress kissing him harshly.

Alexander laughed pushing him into the bed rutting his jean against Sherlock’s bare small body. 

“Seb stop you’re going to hurt me!” The teen pleaded tears threatening to spill. 

“You’re mine, I love you! Why are you cheating on me? ” “Sebastian I’m not!” Sherlock cried out. “Yeah?” the larger male barked a bitter laugh, “Prove it then princess.” 

That word ‘princess’, it used to be sweet but ever since Alexander it sent a chill down his spine. Sherlock tore off his sweater bearing his scared body for Seb’s assault. “That isn’t proof” the blond growled his face contorted in anger and disappointment tears streaming down his tan face. He pushed the younger boy away.”Why are you here? I’m just a toy to you, aren’t I? You just wanted to tell me you’re done? That you don’t want me?” 

The blond was grinding his teeth battling drunken tears. “Please Seb I do want you, just not so rough” the drunk boy grinned through his own tears and kissed open-mouthed on his neck sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. “You want me?” He growled Sherlock nodded his head frantically. He did, he wanted Sebastian but he was scared. The blond fumbled under the mattress for the bottle of lube. Sherlock felt panic rise. 

The brunet ripped off the struggling boy’s trousers squeezing his penis painfully and spitting at the boy’s opening. 

Maybe he should make him to wait, try and get him sober? A sober Sebastian was sweet, caring, he would apologise with kisses and hold him stroke his hair. Sherlock needed to stall. “After dinner? I wanted you to come to get Chinese with me.I’ll even finish my plate.” The raven-haired boy pressed string of kisses on the blonde's jaw. “Then we can keep your roommate away all night” He smiled as seductively as he could manage in his terrified state. 

The taller boy snorted kissing him all tongue and teeth. “Now, Sherlock I want you now” He sucked another mark on his neck and began prepping his boyfriend gently. 

Alexander dipped a hand into Sherlock’s trousers roughly forcing a dry finger into the sobbing boy. 

Sherlock felt his breath hitch silently his acting faltering. This was too much like Alexander. Too much like that horrible first day. He was trying to remember the night no more than two months ago before break that he had spent curled up in Seb’s arms warm and content with a film. But instead, he couldn’t stop remembering four days ago when Alexander had dropped Sebastian off at the school and stopped by Sherlock’s dorm.  
He was trying to remember the time Seb had pulled the bully Carl Powers off of him in the lockerrooms, but instead only remembered Alexander forcing himself into Sherlock’s mouth. He was trying to remember the sweet dinners and cuddle filled nights, but instead, the memory of Alexander holding him down and thrusting into him assaulted him. He tried to remember that this was his boyfriend. 

This was Seb the one who wanted him the one who loved him. He couldn’t lose Sebastian he had to make him stay, even if it would hurt. It wasn’t his boyfriend’s fault, he didn’t know about Alexander. 

He cocked the sexiest grin he could manage. “I want you See, please ” “Thought you would never ask Sherly.” ‘Love making’ the blond always said. Attempting to heighten his pleasure Sherlock adjusted his position clawing at the blonds back for a better angle. But still, drunk Sebastian was angry, and confused convinced that Sherlock had been cheating with John. And after the tender preparation, he wasn’t giving much thought to his boyfriend’s pleasure, The raven-haired boy could hear the muffled moans he was making into blond’s rough mouth, he saw the glazed over brown eyes drunk and incoherent, it wasn’t Sebastian this wasn’t Sebastian. 

Somehow part of it was still pleasurable, and he felt this body reacting to the prostrate abuse. The giggling, the grunts, slapping of flesh and gasped of excitement from the other boy. But then this wasn’t Sebastian, this wasn’t Sebastian, this wasn’t Sebastian. He kept feeling the pain of Alexander stabbing him so wrapped himself around the blond desperate for some sort of friction to distract from the mental pain. Together the boys moaned release and Sherlock held in his tears. 

It had been good physically, Sebastian had prepped him thoroughly even win his drunken state. It was the memories it dredged up that left him shaking. The muscular blond retched throwing up over the side of the bed and passed out still buried softening in the younger teen. Slipping away the genius wiped his tears. Pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead and cleaned up the sick with trembling hands. The black haired boy rolled the blond to his side where he would be able to stay on the bed whiteout choking on his own vomit. Rummaging around the piles of clothes on the floor Sherlock collected a pair of stripped PJ trousers and tugging them onto his boyfriend’s limp form he found himself stroking the placid penis gently the silken skin soft under his fingers. He continued to stroke up his chest and the blond’s face. His fingers stilled. He looked so much like Alexander. He jerked back, he needed to leave. He needed to think.


	6. Hospital Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know I just posted yesterday but since I won't be able to post much next week and since I couldn't sleep last night you get another chapter! Friendly comments, suggestions, or questions are welcome in the comments below.

Sherlock stood outside his doom hands shaking so badly he could hardly fit the key into the lock. He had no idea what time it was and No idea how long the drunken blond had clung to him. Sebastian was his boyfriend and he was Sebastian’s… A breathy laughed on his bare skin accompanied by utter pain assaulted his thoughts. He wanted to replace that memory… at the moment all he wanted was for Sebastian to be sober, to hold him and let him weep.

He always did… Sebastian was two different people there was an angry sexually frustrated power complex drunk, The one that reminded him of Alexander. And there was Seb protective, strong, kind, tender, clever. He wanted to be held instead of held down.

He moaned throwing open the door as he finally managed to turn the lock. His entire body was screaming in pain. John was still asleep on his bed which was in a small way a comfort. John wasn’t like Seb’s brother he wouldn’t touch him. John Watson would be safe. He needed to be quiet he couldn’t wake John. Swaying unsteadily the frail teenager fell into the bathroom intent on washing the seed and lube dripping in his pants from his body. He reached for the shower tap and collapsed on the floor. A sob breaking past his lips. Who was he kidding acting like a victim… he had asked for it hadn’t he? 

Alexander was over him thrusting into his mouth, coming on his face, laughing. The other man Alexander’s friend, the one Sherlock didn’t know his name videotaping and tossing off. 

Forgetting his need for silence the boy doubled over on himself heaving deep breaths tears, blood, and mucus pooling on the tile floor. It had happened again… He had made it happen again. Fagot Whore, Anderson was right, his father was right. He gasped retching, nothing but stomach acid was left to expel but it came up all the same through his mouth and nose burning his throat. He needed the drugs, they would help…they always helped. But he had gotten rid of them, he needed it. 

Gasping panic pants filled the small space he was starting to hyperventilate.

The teen screamed silently into his hands curling tightly hands clutching his curls silently he shut out the world. He didn’t hear John’s calls or see the door open. 

John was frozen, for once he couldn’t process what his eyes were seeing. His dorm mate, Sherlock lying in a puddle of vomit was curled knees to his chest hands clutching at his sweaty curls. The boy was trembling a barely audible whimper reaching his ears. What was wrong with him?

“Sherlock?” John knelt beside the figure. “Sherlock” more urgently. He wanted to lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder but without knowing what the problem was he was scared to do so. “Sherlock, crap Sherlock I’m calling an ambulance.” John backed away to grab his phone. He was about to dial when “John?” It was nothing more than a loud whisper. The shorter teen fell to his knees dropping the technology “Sherlock, I’m here.” This time he laid a hand on the boy’s back rubbing soothingly. 

“It’s okay, shhh I’m here.” The boy was shaking violently from pain or fear John couldn’t tell. He was whispering something. John leaned closer. The boy could feel each bone on the teen’s back. “Please, not again, father not again, stop, no please, to rough, you promised, I love you, leave me alone, I’m just a faggot, you promised you stopped, not again not again, father, don’t please” It filled him with rage. 

“Father…” 

He would be having words with the dean. Grabbing for his mobile the blond punched in the numbers blindly. A woman answered. 

“St Baskerville school, dorm 221B an ambulance now.” John was seething “My friend, he isn’t responding, yes he is breathing, he’s just lying on the ground, he’s been sick, just stomach acid and he’s trembling. No, I don’t know what bloody well happened it’s 3 in the morning I was asleep like a normal person. We both went to bed hours ago I just found him in the toilet, he was sobbing his head off when he went quiet. No, he won’t look at me now, he said my name a bit ago and now he is whispering a bunch of stuff like ‘not again’ ‘you promised’ and ‘father stop’ over and over. I think it might be—” He almost choked on the vile words. “Sexual assault” he finished lamely and laid the phone down attempted to pull the hands from the boy's hair. 

The teen didn’t go limp but he didn’t fight him either. The pale face was drenched in sweat, snot smeared across his face. John rolled the boy onto his lap face up taking his pulse. High. “Sherlock?” The boy flinched and whimpered in response. “Sherlock where are you hurt?” Sherlock wanted to ask for Sebastian, but the boy would still be passed out and unaware of the world. John ever so gently tugged the sweater over his head to check for wounds it over the whimpering head. And his stomach turned. He felt sick, he really did. 

There were light love marks on his friend’s collar and shoulder. But that wasn’t what was sickening. Instead, the form was crossed with various bruises and scratches and scars of different ages and in different stages of healing. Old white scars dark purple bruising. The most sickening was the patch of straight self-inflicted cuts on the boy’s left forearm. The newest scar a week old at most. Sherlock suicidal?

He recalled the boy pulling down his sleeves when first meeting, the yelp of pain when Anderson touched his shoulder, and the flinch when John went to touch him. He could see every rib through the abused skin and every scar, dozens of track marks bruised his veins the newest a few months old at least. Drugs? He lowered his head and let a small sob escape before continuing his examination. Only the ones on his arm seemed. Fading welts appearing to be from a belt crossed his chest. Scars old scars years old testified that the marks were not a one-off. Sherlock was regularly abused by someone. This wasn’t just a bully gang. This was worse. A pounding at the door broke him from his horror. He made a strangled shout that was meant to mean come in. 

And in they came. 

A paramedic dashed into the small room her professional mask slipped for a moment at the severe state the pale youth was in before taking charge. 

 

Sherlock woke in an instant panic. All he saw was white a bright white light was shining down on him. He could hear the erratic beeping of a heart monitor and attempted to calm his heavy breathing. Hospital the word floated in his head. And he groaned. He was in hospital. He hadn’t woken up in hospital since he was 13 and Carl Powers had broken three of his ribs and given him a concussion. Why was he in hospital? Then it hit him like physical bricks. 

Heavy erratic breathing, the pain, in the bathroom retching John holding him, shouting and then blackness. 

He covered his face with his hands and moaned loudly. They knew now, they’d know about father… Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. John knew now. He wanted to be sick but there was nothing he could be sick in and he’d rather not get stomach acid on his sheets. 

Had they told his brother? Probably.

He didn’t bother to worry about them questioning his mother at least. His mother was dead and his father would deny it. Had they told John? No, they didn’t need to tell John, John wanted to be a doctor and he wasn’t stupid he would already know. 

John knew. 

The urge to be sick reasserted itself. Sherlock repressed it. He moaned again and grabbed at the needle in his arm intent on getting out of the hospital as soon as he could find his trousers. He sat up quickly trying to ignore the spinning room. He placed a bare foot on the cold floor and his legs promptly buckled beneath him and with a sharp yelp, he fell in a heap pulling his sheets with him just as the door was opening. Sherlock struggled with the white swaths of fabric that deemed it acceptable to imprison him. 

“Ah, you’re awake then brother dear,” Sherlock stopped trying to untangle himself momentarily and glared at the imposing suit-clad figure above him. “Obviously” The man taped an umbrella thoughtful on the floor making no move to help his thrashing younger sibling. Huffing with black curls falling across his face the young man scrambled back to sit on his mattress and proceeded to glare at the auburn-haired brother. “What do you want Mycroft” he snapped not actually caring in the least. The older man settled down on the chair beside the bed crossing a leg over his knee. Sherlock stared back at his brother and noticed something different in his expression.

Worry? Ha since when was his brother the least bit caring towards him. 

“When?” Not the words he had expected.  
“What do you mean?”  
“When Sherlock?”  
“Why do you — “  
“When did this monster start raping you, Sherlock!”  
Sherlock glared a moment, They didn’t know about father… Surely the evidence from Alexander was long gone, that had been nearly five days ago and he had washed.  
“It hasn’t been long”  
“when did it start”  
“Seven months ago.”  
“So before you were 16?”  
“Obviously”  
“Name?”  
“Why does it matter?”  
“Name?”  
“Piss Off”  
“Sherlock!”  
“No”  
“Name!”  
“No”  
Saying that name would only get Seb’s brother in trouble it didn’t matter if it wasn’t Seb’s fault he would take it hard. “Fine, how old is he?”  
“I don’t know”  
“Is he a student?”  
“No”  
“Is he one of your professors?”  
“No, Mycroft”  
“Give me an age.”  
“I said I don’t know”  
“Guess!”  
Sherlock sighed age alone wouldn’t be enough for his brother to connect the dots.  
“Late twenties early thirties?” 

His brother closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.

”And you didn’t consent?” Sherlock sat up, face flushed in rage ”NO! I’m with Sebastian.”  
“So rape of a minor.” He slumped his shoulders “Yes” “The doctors looked at you my brother dear some of those scars are over five years old.” 

So Mycroft didn’t know about their father. Sherlock closed his eyes feeling the belt whip across his bare back and hearing the other drunken shouts. He hated looking at his brother, the young man looked nearly identical to their father. His father was never like that before mummy died and Mycroft, elven years his senior was out of the house long before his father started taking his anger out on the 8-year-old. 

“Piss off Mycroft” he hissed through clenched teeth and closed eyes. “Has Sebastian been notified? I’m sure your little boyfriend will be quite worried.” He kept his eyes closed “I’m going to text him as soon as I get my mobile back.” hearing his brother rising. “Sherlock, you do know you must tell me eventually. This isn’t just a broken arm or some cracked ribs you can sweep under the rug without any explanation, this isn’t another drug high, and this isn’t another one of your half-hearted suicide attempts. This is rape.” 

Mycroft took no notice of the flinch at the word “Why would you want to protect that? I am telling father this time.” The man sighed staring at his brother who stubbornly refused to look at him “This just now wasn’t assault. It was an accident Mycroft.” The raven boy hissed through clenched teeth refusing to open his eyes. “I really do not want to hear about your sex life, brother dear. The item to which I am referring took place if I am not mistaken four-five days ago when we caught you attending a medical clinic under a false name on surveillance” “You were watching me?!” Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“I will find out the man who has done this brother dear, protecting them is exceedingly foolish” The grey-suited man closed the door behind him.


	7. Comfort and A Flashback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note I do not agree with victim blaming or self-blame. Also so sorry it's been two weeks I've been to visit schools and been taking entrance exams. Comments, questions, and friendly advice is always welcome!

Sherlock relaxed his shoulders and tense facade the moment his brother left. Hands shaking he took in long calming breaths. The door rattled and started to open 

“I said piss of Mycroft.”

Sherlock growled not bothering to wait for his brother to fully enter the room. A dark figure appeared in the door way. Sherlock’s brain wasn’t as fast as his body. He leapt up terrified. It was Alexander he was sure of it. 

Why was he here? hadn’t he done enough? How did he know he was at hospital? Where was Seb? 

Sebastian would have a hangover now and be not quite sober, but Sherlock wished he could be, so that the large blond boy could hold him stroke his hair and say everything would be alright. 

The dark figure moved. Why had the nurses let him in? What had he convinced them? That he was his father? His uncle? The figure was coming closer he couldn’t move frozen in place beside his bed. He was saying something but Sherlock couldn’t make out the words. The figure was in front of him and he dropped to the floor curling in on himself instinctively. Trembling waiting for the pain and crying for Sebastian. 

———————————————————————————————————

John woke with a start in as a rather tall man with dark red brown hair and an umbrella exited Sherlock’s room. The man turned and pireced John with a icy stare much similar to Sherlock’s 

“He is awake now Watson. Although I am afraid he is in a rather foul mood at the present.” 

John simply stared at the man’s back as he walked away swinging his umbrella slightly. The blond stood and reached for the door handle. A low muttering sounded inside that he couldn’t quite make out and he pushed open the door. Sherlock was sitting looking painfully pale and thin in his white hospital gown surrounded by the white walls with a slightly grumpy furrow to his brow and his lips set in a pout. The pout only lasted a split second before something akin to terror overtook his face. 

The boy leapt to his feet and froze breathing erratically wide eyes not staring at but through John. 

“Sherlock?” The blond questioned moving slowly toward the teen. “Sherlock, it’s okay it’s just me.” 

The younger boy pressed his lips closed, his arms hugging protectively across his thin chest.

“Sherlock calm down mate it’s me.” Jon reached forwards to touch the boy’s shoulder just as he collapsed. 

“Sherlock!” John felt panic grab at him the boy had curled into a metal position hugging his knees to his chest as if he was trying to— Oh…

John knelt to the ground pressing thin lips together. He ran his hand softly across the boy’s shoulders feeling each bone. “Sherlock, it’s okay” he whispered rubbing soothing circles over the boy’s ribs. A slight whimper slipped past cupid bow lips.

”S-s-seb?” “What?” John furrowed his brow who was Seb? 

“Sebastian, please hold me, just hold me.“ The raven haired boy clutched John’s dark trouser leg murmuring into the denim.

“Sherlock? Its John, it’s okay it’s just John.” The blond rested his other hand on the greasy dark curls. He felt the muscles under the thin nightgown soften as the boy slowly uncurled his grip on John’s trousers. Brushing a curl from closed eyes. John’s hand was seized by a pale hand. Sherlock clutched the shorter boy’s hand to his chest hugging it tightly and nuzzling into the arm. 

It was John, his puzzle of a dorm mate, who had called him a friend and called for him to be taken to hospital, John who actually seemed to care about his without seeming to want anything sexual in return. ”J-John?” “Yeah, I’m here” The dark haired boy rose collected himself and sat cross legged on the tile floor. 

“I’m sorry John.” “What! What are you sorry for?” The pale youth looked exceedingly uncomfortable. He straightened his back and stared at a point on John’s forehead. “For any alarm I may have caused. I assure you nothing is wrong.” John sat back on his heels mouth open in shock. “Nothing is wrong? Sherlock I found you in a pool of sick!’   
The boy stiffened tugging at the hospital gown’s hem. 

“I regret you had to see that. Don’t leave. Please don’t be angry.” a slight note of pleading crept into the stiff voice. 

“Look Sherlock, I’m not leaving. Stop saying you are sorry, you have nothing to be sorry for.” 

Sherlock looked up sharply. “Do you know?” There was no need to elaborate. John shifted uncomfortably, he had heard the nurses confirming his suspicions, yes Sherlock Holmes had been sexually assaulted by a man, repeatedly by the looks of it and yes he had a history or self harm, drug abuse, and unexplained injures throughout childhood. Yet no action had been taken to find out why. 

“Yes…” “Then you know I should be sorry because it is my FAULT! I SHOULDN’T HAVE FOUGHT HIM! If I hadn’t fought him it wouldn’t have been so bad and I wouldn’t have woken you up and you wouldn’t have had to see me.” 

That did it. John grabbed for the boy ignoring the squeak of protest and pulled the younger youth into his arms locking him in an embrace. He spoke quickly and softly anger boiling. 

“Now you listen here Sherlock Holmes. IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. You should never let someone hurt you. You will never try and hide stuff like this from me and The fact that you think so little of me so that you could picture me simply shunning you because I saw you hurt and the idea that I wouldn’t want to know is bloody stupid. And you sherlock are not a stupid person. So shut up and let me take care of you.” 

“B-but he— I should have jus—“ “ “Sherlock!” The stiff figure in his arms went limp the thin body melting into John’s arms hot tears soaking through the older boy’s grey rugby jersey. John look up at the ceiling holding the genus to him with one hand and soothing down the dark curls with the other. 

“Can we go home?” John realised with a start that he had started to doze off on the hospital floor. The soft voice spoke again in a child like whisper. “John?” 

Home is that what Sherlock called the dorm? A school dorm was not John’s idea of a home but given the shape Sherlock was in and john’s suspicions of his home life perhaps the dorm room was the only place he felt safe enough to call home. 

“Yes Lock we can go home” The boy lifted his head off the wet patch in John’s shirt. “Lock?” John grinned “You’re daft if your think I’m going to say the whole mouthful every time.” “I like it” the boy mumbled nuzzling back into the older boy’s comforting grip. John allowed a gentle smile to pull at his lips. “You need to get in bed while I talk to the nurses okay?” “mmkay” Sherlock made no move to release his hold on John’s Jersey. 

“Can you stand up?” He pulled back to look at John’s face with an affronted huff. “Of course I can stand.” John smiled at his indignant attitude. “All right then up you get,” He helped the smaller boy to his feet. “Now sit. I’ll be right back.” Sherlock stiffened his voice timid “promise?’ John’s heart nearly burst at the single childlike word. He forced himself to smirk “Promise.”he confirmed and slipped out of the room. 

(FLASHBACK SCENE)

Sherlock sat stiffly on his bed still dressed in his small suit and tie. He clutched his plush bee to his chest staring vacantly at the rich carpet. 

Mummy was dead. The words didn’t sound right. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. 

The eight year old couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He fingered the thin gold chain around his neck fingers wrapping around the plain wedding band she once wore. Mummy, the only person he cared about besides Mycroft. The only person who loved him as he was. The only person he loved. Dead. He couldn’t even cry. He just stared despondently, expressionless, emotionless. His father hated it. 

“What is wrong with you? You little freak you don’t even care about her! It’s you fault she’s dead and you don’t even care.” But his father was wrong, he did care. He cared so much it hurt and he didn’t know how to let it out. He tried to cry, he tried to scream, he tried to be angry, tried to act out. It didn’t work. 

It was his fault. He had shouted at his ballet teacher and had needed her to pick him up from practice. If he hadn’t misbehaved if he hadn’t mouthed off she wouldn’t have been on that street and that car wouldn’t have hit her. A hit and run driver. They didn’t even wait, they just left his mum dead in the street. He hadn’t spoken not a single word since Mycroft informed him over the phone.

A loud crash sounded down the hall from his room. Sherlock didn’t even flinch. He was getting used to it by now the past four days had been much the same. His father would become drunk throw some things around and pass out to repeat again the next day. Something slammed into his door. Sherlock turned to face the door still clutching the plush toy. The knob turned. And there stood his father. Tall, half dressed in his suit the blazer, tie and shoes discarded. His normally neatly combed auburn hair hung around his bloodshot brown eyes. “You look just like her.” He practically growled at his son.

And he was right. Marble white skin, glossy black curls, silvery Bluegreen eyes, high cheekbones thin figure. Only his height was taken from his father. “YOU LOOK JUST LIKE HER!” He screamed without warning spittle landing on his son’s impassive face. “You don’t even care!” He shouted. “You don’t even bloody well care!” His fingers fumbled to pull his belt from it’s loops. “Is that all you can do? Just stare!” He roared. “Just CRY! Just do something! JUST TALK! Why can’t you just be NORMAL?!” Sherlock turned back to staring at the floor. The snap of leather across his face was unexpected a startled half yelp of pain escaped though his mouth. He fell to the floor in shock. 

His father had stuck him. His father. 

He didn’t love the man but he had trusted him. The belt fell again this time across his back the heavy buckle cracking across his ribs. Sherlock bit his fist to keep silent. He had to stay silent for mummy. Mummy hated to see him cry. Blow after blow rained down on his thin eight year old body as silents tears streamed from red eyes. 

Three hours later he stared blankly at the ceiling sliding in and out of conciseness His shirt, tie, and blazer was torn off, his back was bleeding, his ribs were bruised his head ached and he was fairly certain his pinky finger was broken from where his father had stamped on his hand. He didn’t know what to even think. He had finally given up trying to keep silent part way through and screamed for him to stop. But of course he didn’t he’d just laughed and shouted “Oh so you can cry for yourself but not your Mother?” 

Sherlock curled his knees to his chest and allowed a small sob to slip past his lips. The sun was still up and shining around his dark curtains. Mycroft would find him, his brother would save him. He would hear his bothers posh gait outside is door and he would kneel down with a sad smile, shake his head and say “oh Sherlock what have you done now” and make it better. But he didn’t. The only footsteps outside his door was that of his drunken father and the drag of belt buckle on the wood hall.


	8. Meeting the Boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait loves, just started a new job and have been beyond busy. As always friendly comments, questions, or suggestions are welcome.

Sherlock hugged his knees to his chest his mind snapping back to reality just as John rented the room. 

“Come on mate, You’re clear to go I’ve called a taxi for us.” 

The kind blond held out his hand. Sherlock grasped it allowing himself to be hauled into a standing position. 

“I grabbed some clothes on the way out last night, the ones you were wearing are filthy. Do you need help?” 

Sherlock bit his bottom lip swaying dangerously. Shame washed over him he didn’t need John to see the scars if he hadn’t already. John smiled at him reassuringly picking up on his line of thought 

“It’s alright Lock I saw everything last night. You aren’t going to scare me away.” Sherlock blinked avoiding his gaze. 

“P-p-please?” The blond took charge, helping the frail teen to pull the white gown over his head. 

John blanched. It was worse under the harsh hospital lights. Much worse. The thin skin stretched over his ribs was a patch work of rainbow coloured bruises in various stages of healing, lines of raised scars crossing beneath the colours. His arms and legs however were relatively free of the marks the skin smooth and marble white making a sickening contrast to the unnatural darkness of his torso. The newest bruises were concentrated on his hips in the shape of large hands. Bones protruded from the patchwork skin, only the long legs seemed to have any semblance of muscle was he a runner then? 

John shook himself noticing he had been staring a few seconds to long and helped pull a soft baggy black jumper over the boy’s head. 

“I’m hungry…” the teen whispered as if afraid that he would be denied his request. “Can we get lunch before we go home?” 

John finished helping the boy into his jeans and felt a grin tug on his lips. “Yeah, fancy anything particular?” 

“Chinese?” John nodded in the affirmative kneeling to lace up the boy’s purple trainers. 

“John I can do that!” The raven haired boy protested pulling away. 

“Too late already almost done.” Sherlock stood again leaning on John for assistance and casting his eyes around searchingly. 

“Need something Lock?”  
“Where’s my mobile? My earbuds?” His hand flew to his neck “my necklace?”   
“Calm down mate, the nurses have got all your stuff.” 

The boy visibly relaxed and followed John out of the white room leaning only slightly on his friend. 

The cabbie bringing them back from the Chinese restaurant glanced back in the mirror a nearly dozen times before he finally spoke. 

“Is your mate alright boy?” John glanced down at Sherlock, After filling with his mobile a minute the boy had slumped down laying sideways in a featal position, head resting in John’s lap, face drawn with exhaustion, ear buds hidden under the messy curls. One hand held his mobile limply.

“Yeah,” John spoke softly “yeah, he will be alright.”

“He seen a doctor?” 

“Yeah, just take us to St. Baskerville and he’ll been fine.” 

The cabbie fell silent but didn’t stop glancing back at the two boys. 

______________________________________________________________

“St. Baskerville school” The man announced watching curiously as the short blond tried to arouse the sickly looking pale one. 

“Lock,” The blond ruffled the dark curls. 

“Come on Sherlock get up” 

The raven haired boy shot up with a cry of distress casting around wildly. Seeing his surroundings and the blond he visibly relaxed and slid out of the cab waiting for his friend to pay and follow him. 

The cab didn’t pull away immediately instead the driver watched apprehensively as the thin dark hair boy leaned on the other. He shook his head, what the hell had those boys gotten into. 

Sherlock was worrying his bottom lip to the point of bleeding, leaning rather heavily on John and attempting to ignore the stares from the other students. Of course they had seen the ambulance. Seb of course would be genuanlyy concerned. And when they were alone would beg for forgiveness… Sherlock would grant it curl up in the blonds arms and cling to the boy who looked so much like his abuser. As if on cue the tall blond burst from Dorm A. 

John held tightly onto his new friend noticing the need for support and the worried expression. Like idiots everyone turned and stared some grinning tauntingly others glazed and uninterested. As they progressed slowly forwards and sudden flurry of moment caused John to stop in surprise forcing Sherlock to join him. A boy with slightly shaggy curly blond hair and a height that topped even Sherlock’s was rushing forward brows creased in worry over dark brown eyes. 

He wore a tight black vest, green cargo khakis and a pair of worn leather boots. He was frankly huge, muscles bulging like one of those heroes in a war movie, and he was sprinting directly at them. Sherlock stiffened fractionally but immediately relaxed seconds after a soft smile lighting up his face. John however was confused, under the impression that Sherlock didn’t have friends and if this very concerned looking boy wasn’t a friend what was he? 

He got his answer moments latter when the muscular blond seized the raven haired genius in his arms kissing him tenderly. Undeniably a show of ownership, but the passion was clear, affection palpable, he pulled away with a tender brush of lips. The fact that Sherlock didn’t kiss back instantly and instead just clung to the tall blond gave John pause. The fact that he didn’t pull away and instead delved deeper into the larger blond was comforting, surely Sherlock would pull away from unwanted affection.

The unnamed boy was running his hands over Sherlock’s body gushing concern, peppering him with questions and leaning in to kiss him more than once. Sherlock stood silently throughout the entire ordeal again leaning heavily on John a slightly fond look on his lips. The blond rose again to his feet running his hand through Sherlock’s dark curls before turning his dark eyes to John questioningly if not slightly hostile.

“Who is this?” His voice was deep harsh a different man than the one who had been murmuring over Sherlock seconds before. The dark eyed boy was holding Sherlock in his arms again fingers running repetitively through the matted curls as he glared at the shorter blond. 

“Watson, John Watson” John thrust out his free hand. The other boy pointedly ignored it turning to Sherlock. 

“Is this the one Aaron told me about Sherly?” 

Sherly? 

“I’m his dorm mate.” John bit out on disliking the boy more by the minute. Not just for his rudeness but for the clear display of ownership he was exhibiting over the softly smiling raven haired boy.

Though why he should care was a mystery to John. The blond cast a glare at John before turning to brush his lips over Sherlock’s again. This kiss was different soft and sweet Sherlock’s arms wrapped around the muscular frame, one hand clutching the back vest.

It was one the most awkward moments of John’s life to that point, he was stuck with Sherlock while the raven haired boy in question was being snogged by a incredibly rude and inconsiderate unnamed boy. 

He had just gotten back from hospital for Pete’s sake let him recover before you shoving your bloody tongue down his throat! The kissed ended as the taller boy decided to press his lips between the dark eyebrows, allow Sherlock to nuzzle into his chest for a moment and hold a whispered conversation. 

Shaking his head the genius released his hold on Sebastian and leaned again on John. 

The physical contact had been confusing, he didn’t want to be touched but he did want Sebastian to hold him. He knew he should tell the tall blond about Alexander. but he couldn’t he just couldn’t… he loved him to much and all he wanted was to go to Seb’s room with the tall blond but he somehow couldn’t. Even seeing the blond so soon after the latest ordeal had been enough to confuse him. 

“Come along John I need your help getting back to the Dorm!” He forced a cheerful tone into his voiced tugged at his steaming roommate. John rolled his shoulders to relive the tension gained by the other boy’s presence and let out a quiet huff.

“Yeah, lets go you have some questions to answer when we get to the room.”


	9. Fear and a flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if anyone is even reading this fic anymore. And I've honestly not gotten many comments on this one in comparison to my other fic but here's another chapter. Kinda short but it's here. Friendly comments, questions, and suggestions are more than welcome! Please comment I need ideas!

The moment the two boys entered the dorm Sherlock broke away from John and carefully lowered himself face down on his own mattress with a slight grunt. 

John stood in the doorway a moment watching the broken genius, before pulling the bright orange blanket over the thin figure. 

John sighed and went to see about scrubbing the loo’s vomit-covered floor. 

A half of an hour later of cleaning up the dried sick John emerged into the bedroom tidied a bit and sat on the edge of his bed watching the other boy. 

He hadn’t budged still face down in his pillow and silent. 

Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed tightly, attempting to keep his breathing even and calm down. 

Emotions he didn’t understand, fear he couldn’t rationalise away, and deep confusion as to why on earth this angel in the form of John Watson was sticking around assaulted his thoughts. He heard John sit down on the bed across from him and froze.

Battling internally with what to do Sherlock argued with himself. He wanted to turn and speak to the other boy but fearing doing just that. 

He had little doubt in his mind that Sebastian would be considered a bad idea to some. He was rough, he was dominating, and he used Sherlock as his personal toy because he had a problem with the bottle. Anyone would say get out, anyone would say run, but none of them would know the other side of Sebastian.

Sometimes he was sweet, sometimes they would curl up and cuddle, he kept the bullies at bay when he was around, he stayed to comfort him on the phone after his father had beaten him, he would kiss him and tell him he loved him, but most of all he wanted him. No one else wanted Sherlock Holmes, that was a fact. 

John knew the boy wasn’t asleep.

His breathing pattern was far too quick for that. His form to ridged.

Was he scared to talk to John? 

John stood moving to sit beside Sherlock on the other bed. The moment he sat down Sherlock sucked in a deep breath and held it, waiting for John’s next move. 

John wouldn’t take advantage of him would he? 

No, he wouldn’t he was too kind… but was he really? 

He had known this boy not even 48 hours yet and nearly 10 of those he had been asleep. 

He knew he wouldn’t be able to fight the muscular athlete if he did decide he wanted to take him. Sherlock knew he would just lay there and take it. 

He could practically feel the waves of anger rolling off the blond. Anger at him? Anger he would take out physically like Father? Or would he take it out sexually like Sebastian’s brother?

+Flashback+

Winter break Sherlock went home with Sebastian, it was wonderful.

Seb’s parents and his two older sisters were kind to him, didn’t force him to eat when he couldn’t and didn’t make fun of him when he did, and they cooed over his brilliant mind.

Seb’s mother had been a ballet dancer herself and was quite taken with Sherlock’s progress in ballet. 

The only person in the household that didn’t like Sherlock was Sebastian’s brother.

Alexander age 29 the family’s oldest, and the family’s disgrace. The one who the parents would rather ignore. He dropped out of school and into jail, there were assault cases they managed to get dropped, he was loud, drunk, mean. 

He hated Sebastian and hated Sherlock even more but somehow did a very good job of hiding those two facts. 

The day before going back to school Sebastian went with his mother to pick up some toiletries while Sherlock stayed behind to finish packing up their bags. Mr Moran was at work and the two daughters off with friends. 

Which left 15-year-old Sherlock home alone with Alexander. 

He’d never felt so safe and loved since his mother’s death. Deciding to ask Seb about the last few bags later Sherlock had stretched out on the curly-haired blond’s bed and flipped open a chemistry text. A few minutes later he had fallen asleep. 

He woke to the heavyweight of a large brunet straddling him. 

“mh-Alex?” The boy murmured half asleep. A sharp slap started Sherlock fully awake. 

“What Alexan-“ 

“Shut up freak” he brunet growled his breath reeking of beer. 

“Everyone is so proud of my baby brother and his boyfriend. Oh Sebastian does this oh Sebastian does that and Oh Sebastian has a hot boyfriend now! Alexander why can’t you be more like your little brother? I’m sick of it!” 

Sherlock was becoming aware now of his situation his breathing turning heavy and quick.

“I’m sorry Alexander, but this isn’t going to help. Please get off of me.” 

“I said shut up!” 

Another slap crossed the teen’s face leaving a viscous pink handprint. 

“They want me to be like my little brother? Guess that means I need to act like him too” 

Sherlock wriggled beneath the older larger man trying to buck him off. 

“And what is it you and Seb usually do?” 

“Not this! Not this Alexander, Sebastian does not hurt me!” 

“No, he pounds into your gorgeous arse doesn’t he?” 

Sherlock flushed thinking of the night before it had been enjoyably slow and tender. But panic seized him at the implication. 

“Alex get off of me!” 

“No…” the man looked deep in thought holding Sherlock’s hands pinned above his head almost effortlessly. 

“I don’t think I will… because as much as I hate my baby brother I will say he’s got good taste. What are you 13, 14? You are younger than him right? I’d say your what 14?” 

“Fifteen!” 

“Oh, not so far apart after all…Still good…I like them with a little bit of experience. And what is it he calls you when you’re alone… Heard him whisper it once.” 

The man leaned forward and nibbled at Sherlock’s ear “It’s princess right?” The larger man licked the side of the struggling boy’s face

“ Well you are gorgeous, princess”


	10. Meeting Greg and Mike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I'm currently working on four fics three of which are on here already.
> 
> Friendly comments, questions, and suggestions are not only welome but encouraged!

The touch of John’s hand on his back was gentle and soft not the harsh touch he had expected. But it still broke him from his flashback with a start. The fisting in his stomach relaxed and he rolled to his side to face the shorter blond. 

 “John?” 

“Shhh,” the blond combed through the other boy’s sweaty curls absently. 

Sebastian wouldn’t like that, he wouldn’t want John to touch him so tenderly. So he pulled away. And immediately regretted the loss of warm calloused fingers on his scalp. 

“Talk to me Lock, who was that?” Sherlock avoided eye contact and stared at a point on John’s bare wall. 

“ My boyfriend, Obviously. Next question.” 

“Hold up, I doubt he would like me to call him ‘boyfriend’, well actually I don’t think he’d like me to call him anything…what was that about anyway?” 

“Sebastian Moran, Seb“ The dark-haired teen finally made eye contact. 

Understanding lit John’s eyes, the name from the hospital.

“He doesn’t like the fact that I have a roommate.” 

“Err- Why’s that? Did you not have one before?” 

“No, not recently. He was my roommate for a few months until the school became aware of the nature of our relationship.” 

“What nature is that?” 

The taller boy had the decency to look uncomfortable. 

“He is my boyfriend.” He stated. 

“So what does that-“ Oh, that John shifted uncomfortably 

“Right so does he treat everyone like shite or just me?” 

“Anyone he sees as a threat, anyone he thinks might hurt me or steal me” 

 “He sees me as a threat?” 

“You are blond, attractive, and don’t appear to hate me.” 

“Oh…” 

 

John fidgeted with his shirt. He couldn’t deny the boy in front of him was attractive. Maybe not at the moment, covered in bruises and malnourished but there was defiantly something. 

“Can I sleep now?” 

The question threw John through a loop. 

Was he asking for permission or did he just want John to go away? 

Searching the silvery eyes decided with a twinge of sadness the boy was indeed asking permission. 

“Yeah Lock, you can sleep mate.” He started to rise from the bed a sad smile on his lips when a pale hand caught his wrist. 

“Stay? Or get Sebastian at least please?” John sighed noticing the trembling lips, the shaking hands and pleading eyes. 

“Yeah, one sec Lock.” The shorter boy snagged a book from his bedside and trotted dutifully back to Sherlock. 

“Budge up a bit then” The thin boy obliged making room for John to sit with his back leaning against the wall and leg outstretched across the mattress. 

The raven-haired boy shifted bumping his head into John’s hip and letting out a slight mewling noise at the back of his throat. 

“Com’mere mate” John ran a hand through the dark curls coaxing the younger boy to settle fully. Sherlock seemed to deflate laying his head on John’s lap and allowing a flood of tears. 

He was ashamed, he felt so weak, he was so weak, and now he was curled up in a boy he hardly knew’s lap soaking his trousers with tears. His breath hitched as he attempted to cut off his silent tears. A comforting hum vibrated from John as his calloused fingers once again began carding through the dirty curls. 

After this, he would have to insist on a bath. The nurses had been more concerned with his health than his cleanliness and the result was his hair still held traces of both sick and dried sweat. 

But as the thinner boy’s tears stopped and he pressed his face into John’s stomach he couldn’t bring himself to stop what was so obviously giving the younger boy comfort. 

There was a gentle knocking at the door. John started suddenly waking up from his slumped position against Sherlock’s wall. The genius in his lap didn’t stir only letting out tiny warm puffs of breath and the occasional murmur in his sleep. 

The knock came again a slightly frantic tapping followed by a muffled male voice talking to another higher voice. John carefully extricated himself from the thinner boy tugged hoodie over his jumper and yawning answered the door. 

He came face to face with Molly Hooper fist raised to knock once more. 

Cries of ‘John!’ “ Is that Sebastian?” And ‘Who the hell are you?’ Mixed together. 

The mousy girl was not alone, behind her was a pair of boys. One was a rather pudgy round, and shorter, about John’s height, with light brown hair and with slightly concerned blue eyes hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses. 

The other was frightening. Tall but shorter than Sherlock, tan, well-muscled, and rakishly handsome. His hair (dark brown going by the eyebrows) was dyed platinum silver and he wore black jeans, a dark red vest and a leather jacket he had a black eyebrow bar piercing above his left eye. He was the one who had said: “Who the hell are you?” And was glaring at John practically bristling ready to snap at a moment's notice. 

“Who are you?” 

John retorted instinctively. He may not dress terrifyingly but he was no pansy. 

The boy looked surprised at the vehement force coming from the cuddly-looking blond. His crossed arms dropped 

“Er— Greg Lestrade” 

John nodded politely and switched his gaze to the other boy. 

“Stamford! Mike Stamford!” The boy bumbled with a smile. “And Molly” John finished for the group. 

“I’m John,” he addressed both boys. “Now can I help you?” Lestrade growled 

“Where’s Sherlock, Sebastian said he’s back,” 

“He can’t talk right now” 

“Screw that!” The leather jacket pushed forward nocking the blond to the side in his haste.

Mike and finally Molly followed more calmly behind. 

“Okay, what- Molly! What are you guys doing!” John whispered furiously mindful of the sleeping Sherlock. 

“Oi! Leave him alone!” John caught sight of Greg kneeling beside Sherlock’s sleeping form. 

“Easy mate,” Mike murmured. 

“Okay you told me your names but I still don’t know who you guys are! Why are you here?” 

Greg rounded on John his face like thunder.

 “Because we are his friends! Now, John, why the hell are you here?” 

“Lestrade please try and not kill my roommate” An incredibly bored sounding voice behind the Biker’s back causes Greg to turn and kneel back beside the thin form. 

“Sherlock, what did you do? What happened mate?” “Nothing to concern yourselves over” the young man rolled to sit up wincing before drawing up his legs to sit on his heels. 

Greg frowned at the genius. And glanced at a sleep ruffled John and his equally not sleep ruffled made bed. He glared at the bruises on the boy’s left cheekbone and then glanced down at John’s hands.

 His shoulders squared and he started to rise from his crouched position, murder in his eyes. 

“Lestrade, before you do something incredibly stupid that you will later regret, might I mention the bruises you observed on my face are from an unforgiving a flat surface such as the floor, and that the angle is entirely wrong for John to have punched me. Not to mention the fact that John was the one who phoned for the ambulance and has been attending me since my accident. So, by all means, continue and dazzle us all with you inanely error-riddled conclusions and likely get a fist to the jaw from John as a result.” 

The tongue lashing was delivered with such violent speed and in a voice hardly above a murmur. John took an extra moment to connect the dots and realize that Greg had believed him to be the cause of Sherlock’s injuries. And as a result, it had been about to attack. The biker for his part looked chagrin 

“Then who was it?” 

“The loo’s floor.” 

“No someone hurt you, maybe not last night but there are still bruises around your neck a few days old at most.“

 “I didn’t see” the younger boy lied. 

“Sherlock you don’t need to see someone’s face to know who it was, deduce it! Who beat you!” 

“Deduce it?” 

“Yeah!” Sherlock’s shoulders tensed and he looked positively livid. 

“You think I have time to be deducing?” 

“Mate you notice everything!” Greg tugged at his collar sensing something amiss. 

“Right,” the raven-haired boy continued dangerously softly. 

“So while I was being strangled, or being kicked, or slammed against the ground, or while he had his foot on my neck I was supposed to be deducing?” 

Greg swallowed nervously.  

“Or maybe when he had his cock jammed up my arse and I was trying to crawl away?” 

“Sherlock” Molly interjected. 

“Maybe then? When he had buggered me till I blacked out?” 

“Sherlock” from Mike 

“Yeah, I really should have been deducing then!” John spoke now 

“Lock” and Sherlock froze his mouth still open he shut it with a light ‘clop’. And then he started to sob. John raced to his side. 

“Get out!” John shouted at Lestrade.

 “Sherlock, I’m sorry I di-“ 

“Get out of our room Greg.” John glared at the young man. 

“Now!” 

“Come on mate you can come back later when it’s cooled down” Mike tugged at the leather jacket sleeve pulling the other boy out into the hallway. Molly took a hesitant step towards the door and then stopped casting a gaze full of concern at Sherlock’s trembling form. She met John’s eyes with a sad smile and left closing the door on the two roommates. The taller curled around his knees, as the shorter ran a hand through the bloody curls.

 “What do you need Lock?” 

“Seb… Can you go get Seb please, in need him to hold me? Please, John?” John didn’t like the guy, but he did care for Sherlock and if that’s what Sherlock wanted…

”What’s the room number?” 


End file.
